


what they forgot to kill, went on to organize

by who_won_the_race_back_home



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gun Violence, Industrial Workers of the World, Labor Unions, Socialism, sara's an anti-capitalist now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13433817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_won_the_race_back_home/pseuds/who_won_the_race_back_home
Summary: Sara surprises everyone with her knowledge of labor unions when the Legends take on an anachronism at the 1905 Industrial Workers of the World convention. Ava insists on tagging along so they don't screw up her benefits package in the present.





	what they forgot to kill, went on to organize

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this, but just another note that gun violence is major plot point here. Nothing gratuitous or violent beyond what is depicted in the show, but it is present, and I know it's triggering for a lot of folks, so I just wanted to make sure I gave as much warning as possible!

 

Even after a couple years of adventures and hijinks that went well beyond the border of absurd, Sara was still surprised when Lucy Parsons hovered over her, pressing the skirt of her dress to the bullet hole near Sara’s collarbone.

She was hot for a fifty-something anarchist.

Which is what Sara focused on, because while this was not the first time she had been shot, it was the first time a bullet had shattered one of her bones on it’s way through. And it hurt. Badly. Nothing Gideon wouldn’t be able to fix, but it was a long ways to the Waverider, and they were in the middle of a fire fight against a lot of dumb thugs with a lot of guns.

Of course, Sara wasn’t supposed to have gotten shot in the first place. Henry Frick was supposed to have been apprehended from his swank hotel room, in the brig, waiting for Sara to set a course to bring him back to 1895.

But it wouldn’t be a Legends mission without at least one vaguely life threatening injury.

* * *

“What do we have, Nate?”

A picture of an old white man in an even older looking photograph projected up in the bridge’s center console. “A level 7 anachronism. June 1905, Chicago. According to a few news reports and travel documents Gideon found, Henry Clay Frick has been spotted around town. And based on this picture from then, he’s looking a bit younger than he should. Also, prior sources from the time put him in Pittsburgh that month. So it looks like he’s popped a decade into the future,” Nate said.

“Wait, is he going to try and fuck with the IWW convention?” Sara asked.

“Given how Homestead went I’d say–wait, you know about the Industrial Workers of the World? And Henry Clay Frick?” Nate sounded bewildered.

The team turned their heads to her, most of them with looks of barely contained amazement. Mick shrugged and kept drinking his beer.

“What? I know things. Like that capitalism is the fucking worst. And the IWW people were onto something. Any of you ever work retail? It’ll get you on board with that real quick,” she said.

“You’ve just–you’ve never known anything Nate’s talked about, like, ever. Like the rest of us,” Jax said, trying to angle himself slightly behind Ray to protect himself from Sara’s potential wrath.

“I know things sometimes! Remember Camelot? Knew that. And Amaya knows stuff, she lived through some of it!” Ray said, pointing towards Amaya, who circled the console to position it between her and Sara. Zari threw her a look of betrayal.

“Do not bring me into this,” she said.

“Well Sink, Shower and Stuff sucked so bad I wanted to see if we could form a union just to piss off my manager. Guys, I’m not an idiot. I can read and I know how to use google, jeez.”

Jax waved a finger at Sara. “No, I did not say that.”

Sara sighed and took a deep breath. “Listen, it doesn’t matter. We need to get Frick and get him back to eighteen ninety-whatever before he seriously screws up labor rights for everyone.”

“...but uh, what is the IWW though? Like, why would he try to stop it?” Jax said, bringing down his hands that were protecting his head.

“They’re a radical socialist labor group that wanted everyone to be part of one big union to give workers power against employers. They were the first union to welcome women, immigrants, Black and Asian workers. Everyone could be a member, y’know, regardless. They got really big for a hot second, like over a hundred thousand members or something like that? Kinda fizzled out in the 1920s, though. But they never really went away. In 2017 there were still chapters organizing. There was a real small one in Star City,” Sara said.

The entire team looked at her like she had grown a second head.

“Wow, that is...right,” Nate said, astonished.

“Fuck off, Nate.”

Nate snapped back to the projection on the screen of a news report. “Frick ran the Homestead Steel Mill near Pittsburgh, and in 1892, he was responsible for one of the bloodiest labor conflicts in American history. Nine workers died in violent clashes with Pinkteron agents. He absolutely hates unions, and is probably trying to find a way to stop the IWW convention from happening, or hurting the people that are going to be there,” he said. “It’s gonna be like a who’s who of socialist labor leaders. Bill Haywood, Eugene Debs, Lucy Parsons, Mother Jones, all of ‘em. So if Frick can take them all out, worker’s right could be set back decades.”

“Captain, incoming transmission from Agent Sharpe,” Gideon chimed from overhead.

“Yep, perfect timing. Put her on Gideon,” Sara said, rubbing her temples to ready herself.

A hologram of Ava popped up on the console, and most of the team began to slowly back away towards the hall leading to the rest of the sip. Mick stayed in the chair he had occupied for most of the morning, sipping his beer and staring out the cockpit window into the hypnotic green haze of the temporal zone.

“Hello again Agent–” Sara began.

Ava cut her off. “There is no way your team is going off to fix the 1905 anomaly on your own.”

“I’m doing fine, thank you for ask–”

“I will not have your team screwing around with my PTO and pension, Lance,” Ava said, sternly.

“Alright, Agent Sharpe. Ava. First of all, it’s Captain Lance. Second of all, okay, fine. Come along.”

There was a long moment of silence, and Ava’s face went through several stages of confusion and bewilderment, finally settling on disbelief.

“Wait–what? That’s it? No fighting me?”

“You’re good at your job, and I know you’re not going to try and stop me from fixing the anachronism, ‘cause I guess your benefits package is on the line. So yeah, come help,” Sara said, shrugging her shoulders.

“Wait. What’s the catch?”

“No catch. You want your pension, I can always use another person with their shit together. Simple as that,” Sara said with a sarcastic smile.

A portal opened up behind her and Ava stepped through onto the bridge. Mick turned his head briefly, giving her a nod, which she did not return. As the portal closed behind her, she squared her shoulders and fell into a military at-ease stance.

“There has to be a catch.”

* * *

The catch was having to once again wear terrible period appropriate clothing. And listen to Sara. Two things Sara sensed were perhaps Ava’s least favorite in all of time and space.

“These are horrible,” Ava said, frowning at herself in the fabricating room’s mirror. “I do not understand why you all cannot just go in in your ridiculous hero costumes, grab the target, and mind wipe. Standard protocol was developed for a reason, and it works.”

“Not when there’s potentially two hundred other people’s lives on the line. This dude has brought in thugs to kill innocent people before, and I’m guessing that’s what he’s going to do again,” Sara said, tucking her stiff blouse into a long, practical skirt.

“Yeah, that uh–hmm,”Ava stuttered, not having a rebuttal, and unsure what to do now that Sara actually had a point. She nodded her head and made her hands busy, adjusting the buttons on the waist of her skirt.

Sara smirked, finally winning a conversation. Because that’s all their conversations ever were, competitions to see who could win. And Ava was generally frustratingly good at winning.

“You know, I really thought you were in all this for the noble cause of fixing time,” Sara said, putting on a ridiculous boater hat. The biggest mystery of all history was why people insisted on wearing terrible hats for so long in public. “It’s nice to know you have some selfish interests too.”

Ava chuckled dryly. “I’m our union rep at the Bureau. Everyone would literally kill me if I let you screw up enough to erase the benefits in our contracts,” she said, slipping a slim tie over her neck and adjusting it, tucking the end into her skirt.

“You guys have a union? Who even came through and authorized that? Don’t you guys like not really exist or whatever?”

“You do know we’re not the Men In Black, right? We have negotiated treaties with the UN,” Ava said, taking one more look in the mirror.

Sara shrugged, playing a little dumb, trying to get a rise out of Ava. But it seemed like she was beginning to catch on, because she didn’t take the bait.

“The Labor Board thinks we make clocks, so we’re under the Electrical, Radio and Machine Workers union. Director Hunter worked out some sort of agreement with them, so no one is wiser than they need to be on what the Time Bureau actually does.”

“No shit. Well that’s clever,” Sara said, impressed. “You guys got dental?”

“And a $500 medical deductible.”

“Shit. Well...we got a sentient AI doctor.”

“You also don’t get paid anything and are constantly working, so who really has the bad deal here?”

Ava was frustratingly good at winning conversations.

They finally managed to wrangle all their 1905 fashions into place, and headed back towards the bridge to meet the rest of the team.

“Do you even have a plan?” Ava asked.

“God. Yes, I have a plan. I’ve been doing this for a while. You and the Time Bureau may not like it, but we get things done,” Sara replied, exasperated.

“You literally broke all of time,” Ava deadpanned.

“Whatever, I’m sure your plans don’t always work either,” Sara said.

“I have a ninety eight percent mission success rating,” Ava replied, matter of factly.

“Well what was the two percent then, huh?” Sara was taunting, like a child.

“Circumstances beyond my control,” Ava said. Sara stopped dead in Ava’s path, arms crossed, silently waiting for more information. “It’s classified.”

“So?”

There was a very long moment of silence, Sara staring stone faced and Ava not falling for it.

Sara broke first. “Oh c’mon just tell me, who the fuck am I going to give it up to?”

Ava squinted a bit, considering, and finally sighed in defeat. “It involved Buster Keaton and a dodo. That’s all I can say.”

She walked right past Sara, bumping her shoulder lightly on the way towards the bridge, leaving Sara stunned and confused in her wake.

Very, very good at winning conversations.

* * *

“Wouldn’t it make sense to send more of us out to find Frick? There’s literally dozens, if not hundreds of hotels in Chicago,” Ava protested as Sara laid out the plan.

“Like I told you, not if two hundred people are in the line of fire. Nate’s got good intel, between the four of them, they’ll be able to cover ground quickly,” Sara said. “Let me do my job Agent Sharpe.”

Her plan was pretty straightforward. Ray, Zari, Nate, and Amaya headed out into the sweltering Chicago summer to follow historic leads on where Frick was staying. Sources placed him at some sort of fancy hotel not terrible far from where the convention was, so they split off to investigate.

The rest of the team made their way to Brand’s Hall, where the IWW’s convention was being held. It was a modest building, but still prettier than almost everything that was being built in 2017, in Sara’s opinion. A cursory glance on the way in showed two main entrances, one on each side of the building facing the street. Out of the corner of her eye Sara caught Ava doing the same split second reconnaissance and was relieved. Someone else was doing the logistical work. Mick normally was better about it, but his gaze had already wandered to a table of food set up just past the entryway. A large man, hat in hand, dressed in a slightly ill fitting three piece suit moved in front of them as they attempted to enter the main hall.

“I made it a point to myself to know everyone in attendance here, but I can’t say any of your faces strike me as familiar,” he said.

Sara rapidly cycled through all the wikipedia pages she had read through while back in Star City, trying to remember enough details to be convincing. “We’re, uh, we’re from the mills in Lawrence. Massachusetts. We’ve been trying to organize for better pay and treatment, but it has been...difficult to say the least. We heard about your convention, and everyone who could help put together the money to send us,” Sara said.

“Well, I can guarantee you will find allies here,” the man said, then pointed his hat at Martin. “I can’t imagine those rat bastards in management allow a man of your age to stay working in the mill. Not that I intend to offend you, sir.”

“No, you’re right,” Stein said. He placed a hand on Sara’s shoulder. She could feel him try to figure out his cover. “I–I was a cobbler for many years, but my hands do not work as well as they once did, I’m afraid. My daughter, stubborn as she is, went to go to work in the mills, despite my insistence to the contrary. But it is disgusting how they treat these young men and women. I came here with her, partially out of paternal protective instinct, but also because I truly believe in your cause Mr–”

The man gave them all a slightly suspicious look. “Haywood. Bill Haywood.” He stuck his hand out for Martin to shake, and moved down the line to greet all of them. “Surely you know Joseph Ettor then? He has been working out in the mills there for a bit now, and has been in touch with me and several of the other organizers here. He didn’t send word that a contingent was coming from Lawrence.”

“It was a last minute decision,” Ava interjected, perhaps a little too quickly.

Bill paused a moment, but beamed a broad smile at them. “Well, it was lovely meeting you all. If you get the chance, I suggest you meet with the women who came from the factories in New York, I think you all would have a lot in common.” He excused himself to meet with another man who had an arm raised in greeting.

As he turned away, Sara grabbed Stein’s arm to lead him and the rest of the team to the opposite corner of the room. It wasn’t the greatest sign that they had probably already been made. Bill’s demeanor was a little too friendly, and looking over her shoulder, his eyes met hers as he gazed passed whoever he was talking to.

"Shit. Okay, we have to figure out who here is actually going to cause trouble. Because Haywood’s already suspicious,” she said, trying to calculate their next move

Ava scoffed, immediately getting under Sara’s skin. “Why do you even bother lying when you can’t even come up with a convincing story? Again, Time Bureau protocol would’ve worked just fine.”

“You know what Ava, shut the fu–” Sara began, before a man bumped into her shoulder as he walked past.

His arm was tucked tight to his side, hand by his hip. And while it was a particularly warm day, his suit jacket was drawn tight and he seemed to be sweatier and more disheveled than the rest of the crowd. A likely hired gun. And a cheap one at that.

“Guy’s packing heat,” Mick said, before ripping into a piece of bread. “Socialists need better snacks.”

“And he’s probably not the only one,” Jax said while surveying the crowd. “I’m spotting at least one more dude who’s all twitchy like that.”

Now it was just a matter of trying to figure how many more were coming and get ready for the fight. She started scanning the room, figuring out how they could get people to cover or out of the room.

“Sara? I think I have eyes on Frick,” Ray said in her ear.

She ducked her head away from the crowd. “Good. Zari, get to Ray’s location. Nate? Amaya? I want you back at the convention.” Her eyes shifted to the man that had just run into her, his eyes darted back and forth across the room, clearly nervous. “I think something’s about to happen.”

Sara had the team spread out across the room. She and Ava covered the exits, while Jax and Stein hovered near the stage. Mick stayed, predictably, by the food. People milled about, filling the hall. Sara heard at least three different languages being spoken as old organizer friends greeted each other. And despite the fact that things were almost certainly about to go to shit, it was hard to not to get swept up in the energy of it all just a little bit. Everyone was excited to start something new, to try and make things better for everyone who worked. This was one of the first times that Sara was genuinely in awe of where they had ended up in time. She was even a little proud they were going to get to fix this one. But she was going to keep that to herself.

After a few minutes, the noise began to die down and heads turned towards the front of the room. Bill stepped up the stairs to the very small stage set up and banged a gavel against a crude podium. The room fell quiet for a moment before a chorus of cheers erupted. Bill motioned for calm, and began to speak.

“Fellow Workers, this is the  Continental Congress of the working-class,” he boomed with ease. His voice was commanding and captured everyone’s attention. Another cheer rose up from the crowd. Bill waited for it to quiet again, a smile on his face. “We are here to confederate the workers of this country into a working-class movement that shall have for its purpose the emancipation of the working-class from the slave bondage of capitalism. The aims and objects of this organization shall be to put the working-class in possession of the economic power, the means of life, in control of the machinery of production and–”

In the pause between words, before Bill could finish his sentence, gunfire cut through the brief moment of silence. It came from the back of the room, tens of men pouring through the door with pistols and billy clubs. A few more revealed themselves in the crowd of activists, beating whoever was nearby with their fists.

Before Sara could even issue the order, Jax and Martin had fused and shot up overhead, causing more than a few screams of terror. Nate, who she hadn’t even seen arrive, steeled up, rushing to the stage to grab Bill Haywood and bring him to cover, drawing fire and deflecting bullets. Ava flipped a nearby table to duck behind, taking well aimed shots with the pistol she had hidden underneath her skirt.

But she didn’t see the man behind her with a gun pointed at her head. Without thinking, Sara slid a knife from her sleeve and flung it clear across the room, hitting the man in his shoulder. The force spun his body towards Sara, gun now aimed at her. It fired. Sara felt the burn of the bullet, heard the crack of a bone, and fell back, landing with a painful thud.

* * *

And that was how Sara found herself sprawled on the floor of a Chicago meeting hall, behind a worn down banquette, with a pioneering activist and labor organizer trying to staunch the blood coming from the bullet hole in her shoulder.

“Miss, you’re going to be all right. We’re going to get you help,” Lucy said, pressing harder with her hands. Sara could already hear Gideon’s voice chiding her for being reckless.

“Sara!”

It was Ava, rushing over from where she had stationed herself. A man with a club tried to get in her way, swinging hard towards her head, but Ava easily dodged it, slamming the heel of her hand up against his nose. Sara could hear the crack from where she laid. After wrenching the club from his hand, Ava whacked him across the face, knocking him out cold.

“Christ, how does your team manage to fuck up this badly every time?” she said, gentler than her words implied, tossing the club away and dropping onto the floor next to Sara.

“Agent Sharpe, language,” Sara said, tsking through gritted teeth.

Ripping the fabric from Lucy Parsons’ skirt that was pressed to Sara’s shoulder and pointing the very confused anarchist towards safer cover, Ava put pressure on the wound. A nearby table hadn’t been flipped yet, so she darted out to grab its tablecloth, ducking to avoid a few poorly aimed shots on the way.

“It went through, that’s good,” Ava said, ripping and folding up a scrap of the tablecloth to put on the exit wound. “Think you can sit up?”

Sara nodded, and Ava got on her uninjured side, slowly easing her up against the banquette they were tucked behind to put pressure on the wound. Sara had forgotten how much getting shot sucked. It sucked a lot. Ava loosened her tie and looped it over Sara’s good shoulder, fashioning a crude sling to keep her injured arm as steady as possible.

“They teach you all this at the Bureau?” Sara said, trying to make conversation to distract from the pain.

“Some,” Ava said while she scanned the room for a way out, hand still pressed to Sara’s shoulder. “Rip recruited me from the Army. Medic training’s a bit more intense.”

“Hot,” Sara said with a laugh, then immediately regretted the decision, letting out a hiss through the burning flash of pain.

Flames shot over their heads from Rory’s gun, as Nate made himself a target for the Pinkerton’s pistols, throwing out absurd one liners from terrible action movies. Sara was unsure what animal spirit Amaya had tapped into, but whatever it was, it gave her the strength to hurl two hundred pound men ten feet into the air, crashing into the ground with literal bone shattering thuds. Jax and Stein flew overhead, taking out the more strategically placed thugs.

“Sara?” It was Zari over her comms. “We have Frick. Turns out old rich dudes are really easy to capture. We’re taking him back to the ship now.”

“Put him in the brig, and have Ray start plotting the course back to 1895, I don’t–fuck, Nate! Goddammit!” One of the men Nate casually tossed away smashed into the banquette, jostling Sara’s shoulder hard, causing a new pulse of blood to stain the makeshift bandage. Ava quickly added another layer, and moved her free had to press against Sara’s back.

“You alright, Sara?” Zari asked.

“Alright enough. Get Frick to the ship and prepare to take off as soon as we get there. I don’t want to be in 1905 a single second longer than I have to.”

Most of the guys who hadn’t been knocked out or maimed were running for the doors, along with a good number of the organizers. A couple dozen remained, fighting back with whatever they could get their hands on–table legs, bottles, pilfered billy clubs. A few were holding their own better than the team did on any given day. Sara gave a half hearted thought to offering any of them a spot on the Waverider. Within a couple minutes the rest of the Pinkertons had either been beaten into submission, or had made a hasty exit. Jax and Stein flew down, separating as they hit the floor and rushing over to Sara and Ava.

“Is everyone okay?” Sara asked.

“Aside from you? Well, no one’s dead,” Jax said. “Lotta injuries though.”

“Okay is relative, I suppose,” Martin added. “Miss Lance, we need to get you to the ship.”

“Bill Haywood, Mother Jones, Eugene Debs? Accounted for?” she asked. It didn’t matter if they put Frick back where he belonged if a generation of organizers was wiped out.

“They’re all fine.” Nate shouted from across the room. He jogged over to the rest of the team. “Confused, but fine. Big Bill says we put on a hell of a show.” 

Nate morphed back into his normal self and helped Ava lift Sara off the ground. “Does the Time Bureau have one of those mind wipe guns, but like, stadium light sized?” he asked. “I feel like you guys should definitely have one of those.”

“We never had the need until you all came along.”

* * *

It took a bit of wrangling to get the Waverider close enough to the meeting hall, and probably a lot more cleanup on the Bureau’s end than Sara would cop to creating. But Nate was right, apparently they did have some sort of mass mind wipe device, which handily allowed the rest of the convention to go off without a hitch, as per Gideon’s scan of the historical record.

Ava and Nate had taken Sara straight to the med bay, Gideon fretting as much as their programming allowed, which wasn’t much, but they certainly showed more concern for Sara than for any of the other Legends. Perks of being captain, Sara supposed. Ava refused to leave her side, waiting quietly while Gideon ran tests and began patching her up.

“You’re lucky, Captain Lance. The bullet just missed your brachial artery by an inch or so, which would have made you bleed out quite quickly,” Gideon said with their usual matter of fact manner.

“I can’t believe you got yourself shot,” Ava said, turning a bit pale at Gideon’s news, while Sara just chuckled to herself.

“I mean, it’s not the first time. Or probably the last. But you’re right, a hired thug? That wasn’t even trying to hit me? That’s embarrassing,” Sara said. “God, capitalism is the fucking worst.”

“How can you joke about this? You could have died.”

Sara tried to shrug, because that also wouldn't have been the first time, but the pain of the movement froze her in a grimace instead. Ava gave her an “I told you so” look, which Sara fully ignored.

“Hey look, at least I’m going to get a cool scar out of it,” Sara said after a pause and a deep breath, pointing towards the rapidly mending hole at her shoulder. “When I got brought back by the Lazarus pit, it wiped them all out, so I had to start all over again, which sucks. Like, how are people supposed to know what a badass I am y’know?

“I think your combat skills more than speak for themself,” Ava said, dryly.

“Yeah, but that’s not as cool as a scar.” Sara looked down at her shoulder again, the small circle closing up. “Although I’ve had way cooler ones than this. And it’s a cliche, and a terrible line, but chicks fuckin’ dig scars.”

She was trying to bait Ava again. She just made it so easy, and sometimes it made Sara feel like a teenage boy, just saying shit to say it, just to see if she could get Ava to react. “How about you, Agent Sharpe? You dig scars?”

“Jesus Christ, Sara, you almost got yourself killed!” Ava yelled, a look of horror falling rapidly over her face as soon as she closed her mouth.

Sara smiled slyly at her. “Jesus sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with–”

Ava cut Sara off with the hard press of her mouth, bringing her hands up to hold Sara’s face. She pulled away almost as suddenly as she went in, already trying to straighten her shoulders and turn towards the door. But Sara grabbed the back of her neck with her useable hand and tugged Ava back down. This kiss was slower, open-mouthed and sweeter, Sara sucking on Ava’s bottom lip and biting just enough to send a jolt through her. After a few long moments, Sara pulled away and left a quick kiss on Ava’s jawline.

“Good to know you care, Agent Sharpe,” Sara said quietly into Ava’s ear.

“You fucking moron," Ava breathed out. "I swear to god, next time I’ll just kill you myself, and save us all the trouble.”

Sara paused a long moment. “Hot.” She kissed Ava again, quick and chaste. Ava had already seemed to overwhelm herself.

Letting Sara go, Ava rubbed her temples. “I need a drink.”

“On company time? Have you already been corrupted by us that badly?” Sara said with a grin.

Ava raised an eyebrow at her.“More like this ship and its crew have driven me to a logical conclusion.”

Sara took one of Ava’s hands in hers and squeezed it gently. “Don’t drink the good shit, I’m saving it. But there’s scotch in my office. I think Gideon’s almost done patching me up, so I’ll meet you there when they're done. We can talk.”

Ava squeezed back. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, alright.”

She turned to leave with one more glance over her shoulder, Sara leaning back in the med bay chair with a fond half smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Well this started as canon compliant socialist propaganda (I have a tattoo of the IWW logo and a lot of feelings of industrial unionism, ask me about them!), but I think I just ended up writing an episode of the show? One that is far more historically accurate than any actual episode of Legends, but still.
> 
> Title is from The Ballad of Joe Hill, which I suggest looking up, as the IWW has a really rich musical history, and they tied songwriting into their organizing in ways that are really fascinating.
> 
> Fun fact: Bill Haywood's speech was taken from his actual remarks at the convention! Don't know if he opened the whole thing with it, but that was his real speech!
> 
> As always, you can hit me up at angrypedestrian.tumblr.com for general history related flailing about.


End file.
